


A.Z. Fell & Co.: Brewery

by Marvin_Cumbawumba



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Beer, Captivity, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Enemas, Food Kink, Humiliation, Inflation, M/M, Male Lactation, Multiple Orgasms, Objectification, Overstimulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvin_Cumbawumba/pseuds/Marvin_Cumbawumba
Summary: Aziraphale is a craftsman. He brews beer.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel
Comments: 15
Kudos: 219
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s raining,” said Ophiel miserably, stepping down from the cab of the truck, and Aziraphale’s lips twitched as he led the way around to the back of it, throwing up the shutter on the back. Ophiel had driven directly beneath the cover of the loading bay, at least, and he was out of the rain pouring down in thick sheets from the dismally grey skies.

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale said pleasantly. “I see that. How many kegs are you taking?”

“Thirty-six,” Ophiel said. “But I’ve only brought back twenty of the ones from the big bar.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Aziraphale said, gesturing vaguely with a beautifully manicured hand as he stepped primly up into the back of the truck. “Michael already… Oh, goodness. And what is _this_?”

“Oh,” Ophiel said, drawing himself up, and he followed Aziraphale’s gaze to the figure on the ground, doing his best to squirm in his place. The handsome little thing was tied neatly up, black cord wrapped around his wrists and his ankles, another length of it tied about his mouth and gritted between his teeth, and his eyes… “They caught him off-planet. Gabriel said he’d be good for you.”

“You handsome thing,” Aziraphale murmured, dropping into a crouch and reaching out and slipping his fingers against the lovely demon’s chin, brushing against the smooth skin there so that he could tip his head up and get a better look at his eyes. The demon’s pupils were snakelike, the surrounding colour a most startling yellow, and oh, how serpentine, how _darling_! “Off-planet, hm? A would-be extraterrestrial?”

The demon struggled, groaning through the ropes, and Aziraphale’s lips twitched as he tugged him up by the harness knotted at the back of his shoulders, pulling him clean off the floor of the truck bed, letting him swing, crying out and shivering, as he carried him down.

“Are you alright unloading on your own, dear boy?”

“Yes, Aziraphale,” Ophiel said, and Aziraphale beamed down at his new little project.

“Lovely,” he said, and carried the demon out into the rain.

Crowley heaved in a gasp when the angel gently pulled the rope from around his mouth, shivering in his place. The rain had soaked into his suit, and he was cold and shivering, although the angel had put him up next to a radiator, and the heat was coming off it in pleasant waves that barely got in beneath the shivering chill.

“I’m not a soldier,” Crowley said, watching the angel as he moved back and forth, and then stepped closer, beginning to untie the ropes. “I never meant to Fall, I never _meant_ to, I wasn’t part of the revolution, I wasn’t part of the war! I just wanted to _go_ , I wasn’t _hurting_ anybody…!”

“Oh, certainly, dear,” said the angel, and he pulled away the last of the ropes, then began to pull at the buttons on his shirt. Crowley grabbed at his hands, and the angel looked down at him, giving him a little smile and wrapping his hands around Crowley’s, stroking over the cold, wet skin, and oh, he was so _warm_ …

“You believe me?” Crowley asked. The angel wasn’t handsome. He was rosy-cheeked and plain-faced with wan hair, but he had a good body, a round nose, plump lips…

“Why shouldn’t I believe you?” the angel asked, arching his eyebrows. “Why ever would you tell a lie like that?”

“To… to get you to let me go?”

“Oh, let’s not be silly,” the angel said, patting his cheek. “Do you know why Gabriel had you sent to me, hm?”

“I’m… a prisoner.”

“Oh,” the angel murmured. “I wouldn’t call you _that_. No, let me be rather frank with you, ah, what’s your name, dearest?”

“Crowley.”

“ _Crowley_ ,” the angel said. “Well, my name is Aziraphale. I brew beer, Crowley. You know anything about beer, hm?”

“No,” Crowley said, but he was somewhat distracted by the feeling of his wet clothes clinging to his skin, of Aziraphale’s hands on his own, rubbing over his skin in soothing, pleasant circles. His hands were so warm, and Crowley was freezing.

“Well, it’s quite simple,” Aziraphale said sweetly. “One of the most important things about brewing beer is the maturation process, hm? After we finish fermenting it, we leave it to mature for a while, and then it starts to carbonate and get a better taste. I’m sure you’ve heard, for example, about beer matured in oak barrels, or even in old whiskey barrels to give it a more unique flavour, hm?”

“Right,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale’s smile was warm and enchanting, his eyes glittering with pleasant sweetness, as he said, “And the thing is, dear, that all the other angels are rather on board with eating and imbibing these days. And you know what makes the most _delicious_ flavour to a nice pale ale?” Aziraphale’s hand touched Crowley’s belly through his soaked shirt, and Crowley jumped at the heat of it, heaving in a gasp. “A demon for a barrel.”

* * *

“Haven’t you just got the most scrumptious little cunny?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley moaned, grabbing uselessly at the rope his wrists were tied up in and trying to tug them free, but there was no use. He was suspended from a blunted butcher’s hook by the ropes tied around his arms and legs, and Aziraphale’s fingers were hooked into his cunt, sliding into the wet opening, his thumb playing over Crowley’s clit.

Crowley hated how wet he was.

Aziraphale’s fingers – plump, neatly manicured, _pretty_ – were very skilled as they played gently over his lips, stroking the pink flesh there and making him clench, making him gasp out little noises and shudder in his place. They slid so well into him, pressing him wider, and he whimpered.

“You see, it’s a very simple process,” Aziraphale said in his polite, pleasant tones, leaning in, and Crowley moaned when he blew a little hot air over Crowley’s clit, making it jump in its place. “I just need to get you nice and relaxed first.”

“I’m not going to _relaxsss_ ,” Crowley hissed, but when Aziraphale’s thumb flicked over his clit, he couldn’t help the way his hips jumped into it. “You’re going to… You _can’t_!”

“Can’t I?” Aziraphale asked, and slid a third finger into Crowley’s cunt, hooking them against his g-spot and making Crowley moan at the deepset thrum of dull pleasure it evoked. “Why not? You’re dreadfully handsome, you know.”

“I _do_ know,” Crowley moaned. “Let me _go_.”

“No, dear,” Aziraphale said. “But if you’re a _very_ well-behaved little barrel for me, perhaps I’ll take you for a bedwarmer. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“No!”

Aziraphale ignored him, and then he leaned in, wrapping his lips around Crowley’s clit and sucking, and Crowley wailed, grinding his hips inescapably against Aziraphale’s clever mouth, his thighs twitching. Aziraphale kept at it until he came, his cunt clenching, his whole body wracked with tremors, and just as he was coming from the high, Aziraphale slipped the nozzle easily into his wet and open cunt. He turned a dial on the side of the nozzle, making it widen, and Crowley heaved in a gasp as he felt it press against the walls of his cunt, thick and heavy as it pressed him apart.

“Time to come down,” Aziraphale said, and lifted him by his hips, bringing him away from the hook and setting him down on a leather bench, clipping the ties at his wrists to a loop over his head, making sure he couldn’t reach for his own body. The bench was set at an angle, his shoulders and head on a padded bench below his arse and hips, which were up in the air, his legs in stirrups, an awful parody of a gynaecological exam.

“No,” Crowley said as Aziraphale took hold of a tap on a pipe that ran overhead, twisting it to the side with a flick of his wrist. “No, no—”

It gushed into him. It was a sudden, warm rush of liquid, heavy and thick as it slid into his cunt, and he could feel it pressing into him, making the whole of his insides _tingle_ , and he heaved in a shuddering gasp.

“Don’t want it,” he whimpered. “Don’t—”

“Hush, hush,” Aziraphale said, patting the side of his thigh, and he reached out, beginning to rub his hands over Crowley’s aching arms, massing some life back into them. “Now, dear, it’s all quite simple.”

Crowley tried to move, but Aziraphale had strapped his thighs and ankles down, and the angle made it too awkward for him to move his shoulders and struggle out that way, even as the liquid kept rushing into him, pressing into him.

“This is a lovely little embrocation of my own design,” Aziraphale said, pressing his thumb against a knot of muscle on the side of Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley choked out a noise. The liquid flooding into him didn’t stop. He felt the pressure inside him, felt something _shift_ , and then it was like a release beneath his gut, more and more of the liquid flooding into his body. “Here, I’ll put some on the outside of your belly, too…” Aziraphale’s warm hand was slick as it slid over Crowley’s naked stomach, and he felt the muscles jump under his palm as he rubbed in an easy circle, spreading the ointment over the skin and rubbing it in. It tingled more on his skin, but it was the same sensation as he felt on the inside, a little tickling tingle, and he grunted. “This just serves to let you stretch a bit wider, hm? It, ah, prepares you for what’s to come. Doesn’t it feel delightful?”

“ _No_.”

“Oh, you are a feisty one, aren’t you? I have to say, it is a nice change – most of the demons that come through here just curse and swear, so a mere little cajoling is rather a lovely change. Ah, there we are. Filling up nicely.”

Crowley looked at his own belly, which now had a paunch to it, swelling slightly outward, and he stared at it, his mouth fallen open. It felt strange, tingling inside him and fizzling against the edges of his innards, and it just flowed so _quickly_. It was heavy, and he tried to struggle, unable to look at anything but the belly poised above his head, broadening with every passing moment. He heaved in a gasping whine, trying to struggle away, but all it did was make it sway over his head, and the weight was indescribable, hanging down in a fat, heavy paunch.

“Now, I’m afraid I’ll have to rather overfill you with this,” Aziraphale said pleasantly, patting his belly and making Crowley cry out. “The beer expands inside you, of course, what with the carbonation process…”

“Carb— Carb…?”

“Oh, I know, such big words for that dear little head of yours,” Aziraphale murmured, chuckling, and slid two fingers between Crowley’s cheeks, playing with his arse. Crowley whimpered, humiliated, the sensation burning hot over his skin, but Aziraphale just kept going, kept chattering away as he tugged at and played with Crowley’s arsehole, and the words were all but impossible to make out.

All Crowley could concentrate on was the sensation of the _embrocation_ flowing into him, making him feel heavier and heavier, making his whole body feel so completely full, and it wouldn’t _stop_. His belly was hanging down now, the skin stretching absurdly, impossibly, and he sobbed out whimpering sounds as the angel just kept playing with him, kept talking—

His cunt _throbbed_.

He hated that it felt good, but it did, the plug spreading him wide, and every time he tried to shift and clench, it rubbed against his inner walls, his fat belly would sway and come down like a weight against his swollen clit. Gasping, he shook his head, feeling tears drip from his eyes and drop down and away from his face, and Aziraphale stopped talking to laugh again.

“I wager you taste lovely, don’t you?” he asked, and Crowley couldn’t even think of an answer, could no longer _see_ Aziraphale on the other side of his hugely pregnant belly, as though he were pregnant with triplets, at least.

“Please,” Crowley whimpered, and Aziraphale sighed, turning something off so that it… stopped. He stayed in his place, suspended, the weight of all that had been pumped into him still weighing him down, and he swallowed hard as Aziraphale tugged at the pump within him, and no, no, no—

Aziraphale’s hands moved fast. As soon as the pump was tugged free, Aziraphale slid another thick plug inside him, stopping the liquid he’d pumped into Crowley’s body from dripping out of him. He couldn’t help crying as Aziraphale neatly unstrapped him, tugging him up and out of the frame and carrying him bridal-style.

His belly was so heavy he could feel his whole body weighted down by it, and he cried at the sloshing sound from within him as Aziraphale carried him into another room.

“Oh, you’re going to be my new favourite,” Aziraphale was saying, but Crowley heard it through a fog of bleary understanding, staring at the pulled-taut flesh of his stomach, unable to look away from it. “I can tell, my dear.”

He took Crowley into a room full of other demons, and Crowley stared at them, his mouth agape. Most of them were along the floor, their arms bound behind their backs, each of them with the same heavy swell to their bellies that Crowley had, but there were four or five hanging from hooks on the ceiling by bindings at their wrists, their fat bellies hanging down.

“No,” Crowley said. “No, no, no, _please_ —”

“It’s best to be hung up for now, dear. Trust me, you’ll want all the give that belly can get when it comes down to it,” Aziraphale said, heedless of Crowley’s protests, and once more put his binding over a hook, dragging at a crank to lift him higher into the air. He tried to struggle, but moving just made his belly slosh obscenely, the liquid swell rushing against his inner walls, and he stopped within a minute or two of trying to get free, merely letting out miserable noises as Aziraphale went amongst some of the other demons, tapping at their bellies or stroking their hair. He came back to Crowley then, and reached up, playing with his clit as Crowley moaned, trying not to fidget because of how it made him _lurch_. “Sleep, my darling boy. Let it do its work on you.”

* * *

It was days later that Aziraphale took him down.

Crowley was barely conscious as Aziraphale stroked his belly and let all of whatever it was gush out of him, pressing down on the taut flesh until it was smooth and flat again. He was flushed out with something not quite as heavy as that had been – water, he thought, warm water, and Aziraphale filled him up so much he thought he would burst like a balloon, but he didn’t.

“Now, here’s the beer. It’s rather pleasant – it’s a frothy one, once it’s properly fermented and aged. There’s a nice mix of malt in it, and there’s notes of caramel and cocoa. They pair so well with the particular, spicy note that a demon barrel overlays, you see – you dastardly little things just impart such a _decadent_ flavour.”

The words washed over him but didn’t really sink in.

All he could think, dizzy and out of it, as Aziraphale pumped the beer into him, was that it wasn’t as much as he expected. Oh, his belly was swollen, yes, rounded out and fat and taut and absurd, but it wasn’t _huge_ like it had been before.

“How much?” he heard his mouth say, the “ch” catching on his serpentine tongue and drawing itself out, and Aziraphale chuckled.

“Three pints, my dear. You’ll be able to do more, as time goes on, but I think this is more than enough for now.”

“But…” Crowley said, slowly, and Aziraphale raised two blond eyebrows, his expression expectant, and Crowley didn’t exactly want to ask for more of the stuff to be put into him, didn’t want to encourage the torture to come.

Aziraphale smiled, patting his belly, and then his fingers slid down between Crowley’s legs, two fingers pressing on the plug keeping the beer in him and rolling it in easy circles, his thumb dragging hard over Crowley’s clit. The pleasure was electric, and Crowley sobbed out choked little noises, his thighs quivering.

“Such a handsome thing,” Aziraphale purred as he pressed again and again on Crowley’s clit. It was too much, _too much_ – he could feel himself soaked wet around the plug, slicker than the beer, and the strange tingle of it was… “Such a beauty, aren’t you? What were you planning to do off-planet, hm? Your magic wouldn’t work so far away – going to whore yourself about to earn your keep, were you?”

Crowley groaned, head tipping back hard against the back of the parody of the gynecologist’s chair he was on, and as much as he shook his head, Aziraphale laughed at him, his thumb still dragging and playing over Crowley’s swollen clit, making him jolt and shudder in his place.

His other fingers strayed to Crowley’s chest, stroking over the bud of one of his nipples.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to get a drink from both ends?” Aziraphale asked, looking thoughtful. “Sweet chest you have here, dear boy, but it might be nicer with a bit more weight in it, hm? How much attention do you think I’d have to pay to these pert little things to coax them to life? I expect you’d leak the _sweetest_ milk.”

Crowley heaved in a choked gasp, shaking his head more vigorously, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes, at the humiliation of the whole idea, of having his chest swell up, his breasts full, and Aziraphale squeezing at them, _milking_ him—

When Crowley came, it was with a strangled sob, and he nearly screamed when Aziraphale forced a finger alongside the plug inside him even as he rode through the aftershocks, drawing his finger out wet and glistening in the light.

Mouth agape, Crowley stared at him as he brought it up to his mouth, sucking it thoughtfully, and gave a little nod of his head.

“You taste utterly _divine_ , my boy,” Aziraphale said, and then laughed his jolly laugh. “Isn’t that ironic?”

* * *

Aziraphale brought him out of the barn on shaky, stumbling legs, and then seemed to tire of seeing Crowley trip and fumble his steps. The ease with which he lifted Crowley off the ground would make Crowley’s mouth water, if everything about the situation wasn’t horrible: Aziraphale was plump-built with a deceptive strength in his arms, and he held Crowley easily in his arms.

It was a nice house.

A cottage, a nice cottage, with blankets on all the surfaces and plush, overstuffed sofas, and with his hands still bound behind his back and his belly so full he couldn’t move without falling, Crowley was powerless but to let Aziraphale move him around as he pleased, dropping him down onto a sofa as he stepped out of the room.

Crowley heard the sound of water boiling in a kettle, and then the sizzle of something in a pan.

“You’re ever so lucky, you know,” Aziraphale said as he stepped back into the room, setting a cup of tea down onto the coffee table and bringing another up to Crowley’s mouth, holding him up by the hair.

Crowley drank it – it wasn’t tea, but black coffee – readily and eagerly, still hot, deliciously bitter, _good_.

“Lucky?” he repeated, hoarsely, in between sips.

“Oh, I should say,” Aziraphale murmured, curling his fingers through Crowley’s hair and idly massaging his scalp. It felt nice – it would have felt nice, it _should_ have, if it weren’t for the situation. “I don’t ordinarily bring a barrel into the house, you know – this is me trusting you not to make a mess.”

Crowley meant to struggle, but Aziraphale had put something in the coffee, he thought – he felt suddenly very sleepy, his head lolling, his vision going dark at its edges. He tried to cry out, to protest, but Aziraphale just shushed him, playing with his hair.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, but Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s head to settle in his lap, played with his hair, stroked his back, as he listened to something on the radio. Now and then, Aziraphale’s hand would drift between his legs again, play with Crowley’s clit until he came whimpering, face pressed against Aziraphale’s breast.

Aziraphale gagged him, tied his ankles as well as his wrists, and left him on the sofa the next morning, as he went out to the barn to work on the others, and that was how it went over the next few days, but—

The thing Crowley learned about beer was that it _expanded_.

It was the way the carbonation built, the pressure, as the beer aged, and initially, it just felt… Odd. Strange. He could feel the shift of the beer inside him, the strange, tingling bubble of it, but then he felt the pressure build. Little by little, as it aged, it built up pressure inside him, and he couldn’t _move_ with it.

Lying on his back, all he could do was lie powerless as his belly got bigger and bigger, the skin taut and rounded off with the air pressure inside him, the beer tingling against his insides as he cried out at the fullness of it all, so certain that the pressure would become too much to take, that he would _burst_ —

“Look at you,” Aziraphale purred, patting the drumskin of his belly and making Crowley sob at the pain, at the way he felt the air completely unrelenting inside his body as Aziraphale pressed on it, making the plug shift in his cunt, unbearably tight. “Almost ready to go, aren’t you? You know, Crowley, even with wooden barrels, sometimes the pressure gets to be too much. Such an incredible sight it is when they come apart, too – all that frothing ale, coming out with so much _force_ …”

He smacked Crowley’s belly, sending pain shooting through his body, and Crowley cried out.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley stared up at his face, at the slight shift in his smile. “You’re just so darling, aren’t you? Utterly irresistible.” Aziraphale’s gaze was focused on Crowley’s face, and Crowley stared at the pink shift of his tongue as he licked his lips.

He felt the warmth rush downward – over the past while, Aziraphale’s focus on him usually was quickly followed by Aziraphale’s fingers on his clit, playing with the plug inside him, and Crowley couldn’t even count the number of orgasms he’d had, but now, his belly a sick balloon, twice the size of a pregnant person’s belly, he couldn’t even—

Aziraphale brought his fingers up to his mouth, pressing them against Crowley’s lips – the gag had been set aside for now – and Crowley obediently parted his lips, letting Aziraphale play his fingers around Crowley’s mouth.

“Irresistible,” Aziraphale repeated, and Crowley stared, lips parted, at the saliva string that clung to the angel’s fingers as he withdrew them, and when they slid between his legs, Aziraphale laughed at the way Crowley’s thighs fell apart. “Desperate, aren’t you? You’re a very well-behaved barrel, you know, my dear – perhaps this is your calling. Can’t be stuffed with cock _all_ the time, young man.”

Aziraphale’s fingers did not, as Crowley expected, go to his clit, but slid lower, pressing down against the pucker of his arse. Aziraphale had played with it a little, over the past few days, had tugged at the muscle or pressed on it, but not actually pressed his fingers inside, not even at the beginning, before he was so full of beer and air that he thought he’d be ripped apart by it.

“No,” Crowley said as Aziraphale slid a finger into him, slick and wet against his inner walls, and Aziraphale grinned at him over the hill of Crowley’s belly, pressing in a second. “No, no, I can’t, I can’t—”

“But I can,” Aziraphale purred, and he leaned in, grazing his teeth over the drawn-tight skin of Crowley’s belly, making him choke out a gasping noise. “So deliciously full as you are, my dear, I simply can’t hold myself back.”

Crowley whimpered, shook his head, but just moving that much made the beer lurch in his womb, made it shift and bubble and froth, and that just made the pressure build _even more—_

When Aziraphale’s cock, fat and slick and too long, slid into him, the thrust made his whole body shift, and Crowley wailed at the way the pressure built to a crescendo, but Aziraphale didn’t let up. He thrust into Crowley hard and fast, Crowley’s legs thrown over his shoulders, and Crowley was aware of the hot tears on his cheeks as Aziraphale fucked him hard, shaking up the beer inside him, the pressure building—

Crowley could actually see his belly _ballooning_ , could actually see the skin stretching even tighter, feel it getting bigger, and he sobbed loudly, begging for Aziraphale to stop as his cock pistoned into Crowley’s arse, his chest, his belly, shoving hard against Crowley’s too-full belly.

Aziraphale’s thumb found his clit again, dragging at it so hard it sent a delicious, piercing pain of pleasure through him even as the other pain threatened to make him burst, and he hated himself for it, hated himself, but he came _hard_.

He felt the hot sputter of Aziraphale’s cock inside his arse, but worse was the way Aziraphale put his weight on Crowley’s belly, leaning hard on it.

“No, no, no, I’ll pop, I’ll _pop_ —”

“Beautiful little slut,” Aziraphale murmured, and then he smiled again, climbing from on top of him, buttoning up his trousers. “I think we’re ready to distil, my dear.”

Aziraphale set him up on the kitchen table, legs spread, and he slid something into the plug already inside him, a length of piping. Crowley couldn’t see what he was doing, couldn’t get a glimpse of him, as he let a catch release, but he felt the sudden, desperate relief as beer started flowing out of him.

Air stayed inside him as Aziraphale set each bottle of frothing, new beer aside, four of them, and he settled his hands on Crowley’s stomach as he smiled down at him over the curve of his belly.

“Now, I must admit,” he said, “this isn’t a pleasant part of the process.”

And then he pressed down.

Crowley passed out, he thought.

When he came to, Aziraphale was already piping the next batch into him.


	2. Chapter 2

Gabriel was in a good mood. It was a nice day, a perfectly nice day – all of the days on Earth were very nice, these days – and the warm sun settled like kisses on his skin, cheering him on as he moved contentedly down the path to Aziraphale’s cottage in the South Downs.

He’d used to find Aziraphale hard to deal with, before the Apocalypse had happened – Aziraphale was always do focused on his human things, on doing his bits of good here and there, but now? Now, he was in his element.

He was easier to deal with, and he actually provided a bit of _value_ – Gabriel didn’t like to partake of food and drink, even now more of the angels were down here on earth, but Aziraphale’s beer, it was popular.

Gabriel whistled a tune as he saw Aziraphale across the yard, coming out of the barn, and he looked past him, inside… It was good, to see all these demons kept out of the way, far from where they could harm anybody or do any mischief, all of them hanging from beams or laid out across the straw-lined floor.

“Why don’t you come into the house, Gabriel?” Aziraphale said mildly, gesturing for Gabriel to follow him, and he led the way into the little cottage… Too little, Gabriel thought. Very _British_ – Gabriel didn’t care that much for British stuff, preferred the American way of things, big and beautiful, but—

Huh.

That was pretty big. And Gabriel was no expert, but beautiful seemed just about right.

“Do excuse the mess I’ve made of him,” Aziraphale said, gesturing idly to the demon hanging against the wall, his wrists bound above his head, more cords tied around her knees to keep them up. “His name’s Crowley. Isn’t it, my darling?”

Crowley moaned as Aziraphale cupped her cheek, mouth open, and Gabriel arched an eyebrow as she sucked one of Aziraphale’s fingers into her mouth, sucking at it, her hips thrusting against bare air.

Her belly was glistening with sweat, swollen so big that Gabriel was surprised she wasn’t shredded to pieces by it, and he was reminded of how Mary looked when she was _super_ pregnant. Crowley’s tits were fat and frothing with milk, white cream dripping from the bright pink, swollen buds of her nipples, and her _cunt_ —

“Aren’t you a pretty girl?” Gabriel asked, patting the plug that kept all the beer stuffed inside her. He did it pretty hard, but she just moaned around Aziraphale’s fingers, staring up at him, wide-eyed. “She’s pretty desperate for it, huh?”

“You’re welcome to sample him, Gabriel.” Aziraphale said, and gave one of the demon’s tits a squeeze, making milk drip down over the taut skin of her belly, dripping down onto the floor. “He’s ever eager for a cock in his arse. A whore for the ages, is my Crowley. Isn’t that right?”

Crowley whimpered, shook her head, but Aziraphale slid milk-drenched fingers into her mouth, and she cowed slightly, her cunt shifting forward, against Gabriel’s hand.

“Wish I could have her pussy,” Gabriel said, squeezing her swollen clit between his thumb and forefinger, and Crowley let out a sobbing moan, lurching up toward him, her fat tits swinging, still dripping.

“Don’t be disgusting, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, and began to undo the demon’s bonds. “A demon’s own juices add to the taste, but one of us cumming in a barrel? Horrid thought.”

Crowley moaned, tried to struggle, but Aziraphale caught her by both nipples so tightly that Crowley froze, whimpering. She was babbling something incoherent as Aziraphale said, “My dear, there are two ways about this. You can take Gabriel’s cock like a well-behaved little pet, give him a good show, or I can bend you over the sofa and he can have you from behind.”

Aziraphale leaned in close, murmuring in Crowley’s ear, and Gabriel just heard him say, in a low, dark voice, “You don’t think you might burst, sweetheart, with his weight on top of you, your belly crushed against the sofa, hm? Didn’t I ask you _not_ to make a mess?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, her mouth open, her cheeks streaked with tears, and Gabriel smiled brightly as he undid his pants.

“You know,” he said to her as he stepped forward, grinning at her, “I don’t normally, uh, _eat_ stuff, or drink stuff. Find it all kind of gross! But this, this looks…” He pressed on Crowley’s tit, feeling milk spray over his fingers, and brought them up to his mouth, sucking them clean. “Mmm! Sweet! Creamy! That what you bring to the beer, huh?”

She gasped, lips quivering, as his other hand slid over her clit again, squeezing it in rhythm.

“Can I get her to ride me?” Gabriel asked, and he laughed at the demon’s horrified expression as Aziraphale laughed, clapping his hands together.

“An inspired idea, Gabriel. Come here, Crowley, let’s see those thighs get some exercise.”


End file.
